"Charles, might I speak with you?"
Charles Carson nodded, setting nodding the glasses he had been polishing and making is way to the office. Around him the normal sounds the servants hall filled his ears: the kitchen maids going about their business as the head cook barked orders, the maids rushing up and down the stairs in order to get more supplies, his lordship's new valet running the bristle brush over a pair of fine shows in an effort to get the best shine he possibly could. Charles heard all this as he stepped into the office and, after a moment, shut the door.
"I want to talk about dinner last night."
"Of course, Mr. Beet," the 18 year old said, looking right at the butler of Thrustcross Grange. "Did I make an error, sir?"
"No," the butler said. "In fact you held yourself rather properly… all things considered." Mr. Beet settled himself in his chair, his entire body rigid and firm like an oak branch. This was no willow that would bend with the wind; the butler was as steadfast and strong as any could hope for. Unyielding, utterly disciplined, ready with a correction and rarely giving praise. That's what made such comments all the most wonderful. Too many people in life, Charles had found, were quick to bestow compliments and accolades on those that simply did what was expected of them. Mr. Beet, on the other hand, only rewarded the staff with compliments when they truly deserved it.
Thus with those words Charles felt his heart swell and the slightest of smiles formed on his lips. "Thank you, sir."
"I know the… revelations… at dinner last night were startling," Mr. Beet said. It was the first time Charles had ever heard the man pause when speaking. When the butler opened his mouth it was with great care. He thought of his words carefully so that when he let them slip by his lips they could be as strong and as firm as he himself was. "A lesser man would have reacted to Lady Horngull's words. You did not so much as twitch, Charles."
"It is not my place to react."
"Quite," Mr. Beet said, waving to the chair in front of his desk. It took all of Charles' willpower not to stumble as he walked over to the simple wooden seat; to be allowed to sit in the butler's presence was a great honor. Had it been any other situation he would have taken that compliment, that trust, and wrapped it around his heart so he might forever remember the feeling. But… it wasn't a good situation the house found themselves in and thus he remained utterly quiet as he settled into the chair. "There aren't many that would feel that way, Charles. Many forget that it is our duty to never judge the family. When we are hired we swear ourselves to them. Their honor is our honor. To judge them is to judge ourselves."
"I understand, sir."
"I am glad you do." He paused. "You are wise enough to know the troubles though that will be coming from all this." Charles didn't say a word, knowing that it wasn't a question but just a statement. "The scandal that is to come from this will harm the family greatly."
Charles knew that. Lying about one's ancestors in order to secure a more favorable marriage? Yes, this would haunt Thrushcross Grange greatly.
"People will learn of it," Mr. Beet said. "Not from you; I know you will not speak of it. But others will not have your strength and your honor to remember to hold their tongues. I am quite sure already the story has spread through the village." He went quiet, reaching into his desk and taking out a folder. "I have reached out to a friend of mine. He is the butler at Downton Abbey. In two years he will be losing one of his footman, as the man will come of age and thus move to take over his family's business. You will take his place as 2nd Footman."
Charles forced himself not to swallow at that. Downton was larger than Thrustcross; the family having a higher standing too. Lord Patrick Crawley was the Earl of Grantham while Lord Horngull was merely a baron! The Crawleys had stood for 75 years more than the Dustins as well! To be a 4th footman alone for such a great house would be a boon for Charles but 2nd?! That would put him in place to learn to be a valet, serving guests who did not have men when they visited. He could be chosen to valet for the lord's son and heir. It wasn't merely a step up… it was a massive leap!
But then Mr. Beet's words caught up with him.
"Two years?" he asked.
"Yes," the butler said. "And I think you understand that a house such as Downton Abbey would not look kindly to bringing on staff from a house were the Duke whose grandmother was revealed to be the daughter of a crofter." Charles swallowed at that; yes, such news would never do. "Which is why I have brought you here, Charles." He took out another piece of paper and pushed it over to the young man.
Charles stared at it, brow furrowing as he failed to hide his confusion as he read over the sheet before him.
"We will say that you handed it to me three days ago," Mr. Beet said as Charles read over the typed up resignation letter, which lacked only his signature. "We can manage without a 4th footman for a while, as I doubt we'll be hosting many large dinners after last night. You will need to find something to do until Downton can take you on, something that will not bring shame to you, but I believe you are smart enough to avoid tainting yourself. Certainly not as bad as it would be if you were to remain here."
Charles swallowed at that. He hated the idea of lying. He hated more the idea that he would have to leave service, something he knew was his true calling, for two years. Because there was never a chance that he would take a position someplace else only to abandon them in months rather than years. But… he also understood what Mr. Beet was saying and he was thankful for what the man was doing for him. This way he would keep the shame and dishonor of Thrushcrass off of him, allowing him to continue on with his career. He thought of his friend Charlie… he had been begging for his help with an act he wanted to put on…
He opened his mouth only for the butler to hold up his hand, forestalling his thanks.
"Remember Charles… a servant must never judge."
"…of course."
~MC~MC~MC~
'A servant must never judge,' Charles thought to himself as he stood in the library of Downton Abbey, doing his best to ignore the smacks and swallows of Lady Grantham's mother as she guzzled the tea she had poured before reaching for a pastry and shoving half of it into her mouth. The rest of the Crawleys were gathered around, quiet as church mice, which only made Mrs. Levinson's eating habits all the louder to Charles' ears.
"So… I wish to make sure I understand this correctly," Mrs. Levinson said, looking over at Mr. Crawley. "You are related to Robert how?"
"My great great grandfather was the second son of the… 3rd earl I believe."
"And Robert is the… 7th earl of Grantham?"
"Yes mama, you know that," her Ladyship said.
"We can look up Matthew's page if you wish for more information," his Lordship said with a slight smile, moving to refill his tea cup; he was on his second while Mrs. Levinson was on her fifth, having complained that it was impossible to drink anything on a train what with all the swaying and rocking.
The American waved him off. "Oh, there is no need for all that. I was just curious how it was that someone so distantly related to all of us is getting all of my husband's money."
"The foolishness of English law, I'm afraid," Mr. Crawley stated. "Believe me, I myself looked into the entail and the only way to separate the money from the title would have meant utterly breaking Downton."
"Well," Mrs. Levinson said, giving Mr. Crawley a calculating look, "it is rather odd to find someone with British blood admitting that their ways aren't right. Refreshing, of course, but also odd."
"If you so desire we could discuss payment back to you," his Lordship said with a slight smile.
THAT caught Mrs. Levinson off guard. "Payments?" She set her cup down. "Why Robert, I knew your investments into Downton were going well but I didn't think they were going THAT well."
"It wouldn't be soon, of course, but I would be willing to begin a process to repay back anything you feel you are owed." He settled down and took her ladyship's hand into his own. "Honestly it feels wrong to have taken even a dime when I have gained so much from the marriage."
"Trying to butter me up Robert by praising my daughter?" Mrs. Levinson asked. "Well well well… you are learning." She smirked at that and Robert smiled back. "Though I suppose it doesn't matter, now does it? After all the money is staying in the family, seeing as Matthew has married my granddaughter." She paused. "A marriage that has been solidified for quite some time, I have learned, without you informing me about it."
"We meant to-" Lady Mary began only for Mrs. Levinson to cut her off.
"Tell me, is Lillian the only child under the roof? Or should I begin looking into baby gifts?"
"Of course not, grandmamma!" Lady Sybil said quickly… a bit too quickly in Charles' opinion and he wondered what had caused that outburst.
Lady Mary nodded."As I was saying we of course wished to tell you-"
"You just forgot I existed," Mrs. Levinson said with a dramatic sigh, looking over at Edith and patting her on the knee. "I suppose I should be glad that you thought to let me know." She shot her a careful, critical look. "You aren't hiding secret children yourself, are you?"
Now it was Lady Edith's turn to rather quickly exclaim, "Of course not, grandmamma."
"Hmmm," Mrs. Levinson said before looking to Mary and Matthew. "Well, I suppose I can forgive such thoughtlessness, chalk it up to the chaos of the War."
"Yes, exactly that!" Lady Mary said in relief.
"I said I could," Mrs. Levinson pointed out, "not that I would. But there will be time to discuss your hiding your marriage from me later. Edith dear, tell me more about what you have planned for your wedding. The one I am going to actually be able to attend."
"If it makes you feel any better, Martha," her Ladyship said, "it was a very private ceremony. Robert's mother didn't attend. Neither did Robert and I."
"Yes, of course," Mrs. Levinson said. "Because you banished them from your home and they lived in London during the entire War because Matthew cared more for his wife than he did useless glory and the squabbles of kings." She shot his Lordship and her Ladyship a scathing look. "That makes it all the better."
The two of them grimaced at that.
"Well, it doesn't matter, does it? What's done is done, I suppose, and all we can do is move on." With that Mrs. Levinson rose up and held out her hand to Edith, completely ignoring Lady Mary. "Come now, we must discuss the preparations for your wedding. Let us take a walk in the garden. Sir Michael, feel free to remain here, this will be woman's talk. Things every girl should know before she is wed. The talk I should have given Mary."
A servant shouldn't judge. Charles reminded himself of that often. He had seen so many mistakes in his time at Downton, errors made by his lordship, her ladyship, and others. How they raised their daughters, giving them perhaps a bit too much freedom. Even with Mary, who he would always deny was his favorite of the three despite the entire world declaring she was, who had made the least amount of missteps in life, had been allowed to speak her mind a bit too much. Mrs. Hughes' comment, that he only felt she deserved Downton because he favored her and thus was willing to toss aside traditions that he would have fought for had it been any of the other girls, rang in his mind all the more true. He had witnessed his lordship cast out his family and he had seen him allow for disrespect that should never have come to pass.
A servant shouldn't judge.
But as he watched Mrs. Levinson leave with Edith he couldn't help but feel that despite her being an American and an outspoken woman and utterly unfit for polite society… the Crawleys had hurt her. Unintended and without thought of course… but hurt her all the same.
A servant… shouldn't judge.
~MC~MC~MC~
"I can't tell if that went better or worse than the last time," Mary admitted as she and Tom sat together. Robert had asked Matthew to look over some plans for Downton and while he had offered to let her come and discuss them Mary had declined; she knew that her father wasn't quite ready yet for her to take a hand in the control of Downton. And even if he was it would be wrong to do so without Tom. He had become like a limb, a piece of herself as they had tried to navigate Downton after their losses. To not have him there with her, going over what the farmers should be focusing on to bring in better yields and grow the lands around them? It felt… wrong. Like cutting off her leg and then being asked to do a dance.
"It's hard to tell, honestly," Tom admitted. They had decided to wander outside and get a breath of fresh air, Sybil deciding to take a nap and the rest of their family spreading out around Downton while Edith was trapped by grandmamma. They'd found a bench to sit on, one under a tall tree with grasping branches, and were now watching the world peacefully go about its cycles. "I think that is going to be the most maddening thing about having these dueling sets of memories: trying to figure out when we've improved things and when we've made them worse. Much of history is afterthought and hindsight, after all."
"Hmmm, always the philosopher, aren't you?" Mary said, her tone teasing so she made sure he knew she didn't actually harbor any hard feelings against him. "Is it harder to have the memories or merely know that things have changed?"
"You mean when Sybil blurted out everything like a geyser? After we had just met?" Tom huffed. "Oh, this is much better, let me assure you. At least here I don't feel like the world has gone mad." He paused, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. "Of course it never really got better. There were times where it was easy to forget what she had said but then Sybil would make some comment and it would all come rushing back."
"I honestly can't imagine what would have happened if Matthew had told me the truth."
"You'd have used it against him."
Mary frowned at that.
"Hello Cousin Matthew," Mary said as she entered into Crawley House, forcing a smile as she looked at the usurper who was talking what was rightfully hers.
"Hello Mary. I say Mary because we were married in another life that I led before I found myself transported back in time."
"…SEIZE HIM!"
Men in white coats stormed in, grabbing Matthew and putting him in a straight jacket.
"Take him to the most padded room you can find." She paused, looking him over, tongue darting out to wet her lips. "But give me a key to his door so I can… interrogate him."
"That sounds fair," Matthew said even as he was dragged away.
"…most likely yes," she admitted.
Tom pulled a bit at the thread, trying to trim it away with just his fingernails; an utterly pathetic and failed move. "So to answer your question… I much prefer having the memories, even if it is going to result in needing to be on our guard more."
"Yes, quite," Mary agreed. "I've had to remind myself rather often what year it is so I don't startle Lavinia or Anna."
"Is she still coming for the wedding?"
"Which one?"
"Anna I know will come, though she will be rather put out that she has to mingle with the guests instead of being able to retreat with the servants." Tom smiled at that. "I have been discussing matters with her and assured her that I will stick close to her."
"Good," Mary said. "I will try as well but I know I am going to be pulled away. As for Lavinia yes, she has promised to come with her beau."
"Any word if there will be a marriage between her and the gentlemen?"
"None yet," Mary said. "Or rather there is going to be a wedding but they haven't made it official yet. Her father has taken ill and she is seeing to him."
Tom's face fell at that. "Didn't he-"
"Yes," Mary said with a sigh. "I… tried to drop some hints about it, using my own battle with the Spanish Flu to hopefully motivate her to get him to a doctor. She finally did but not as soon as I would have liked. I don't know if I've managed to save him…" Mary's face screwed up. "Blast it all! How did Sybil and Matthew and Michael survive as long as they did doing this without going mad?"
Tom looked up from the thread he was STILL picking at and said, "They relied on each other and cherished the victories they could get."
She couldn't help but scowl at him. "MUST you be sane and rational? I thought you were supposed to be the hot headed Irish Radical and I was the calm and collected English Noble."
"Have you met your sister?" Tom asked. "One of us had to be the rational one."
"So it was rational to burn that mansion down?"
Tom winced at that. "Ireland's independence is the only thing that truly causes me to act without thinking. In all other matters I am the one that thinks and plans. Even with Sybil I came up with a plan for us to be together."
"I suppose that is true," Mary admitted. "It's just… it is so frustrating that I know so many things and I can't think of how to act on them. I feel like Cassandra standing on the walls of Troy, screaming at them to just burn the horse and be done with it."
"Perhaps," Tom said. "But perhaps you are also a hero who is saving lives… just unable to save them all."
That only made Mary feel slightly better.
"You know," she said, looking down at his sleeve, "I can have Molesley look at that if you wish."
"…probably for the best, yes," Tom admitted. "If I keep fiddling with it I will end up missing the sleeve entirely."
"Have you considered getting a man of your own?"
"A valet?" Tom asked, brow furrowing at the thought. "Never."
"You really should. At minimum you could get a household servant… someone like Molesley, back when he was serving at Crawley House."
"I doubt I'd know how to handle them. Or that I could find someone that would want to serve me."
"I think you'd be surprised how many would leap at the chance to work for you," Mary said. "The War has produced enough young men looking to leave the fields and the farms and make something of themselves. You could find a good chap, maybe one hard on his luck, and give him a chance to better himself."
Tom let out a sigh. "I will think on it."
"Please do. You and Sybil have enough money now." She smirked. "And if you don't you can always appeal to your boss."
"I try not to take advantage of Michael like that."
"I was thinking Edith."
That made Tom laughed. "She is the one that is running things now. Her suggestions are even more radical than Michael's but I know they will work."
"Just based on our first lives or…"
"Oh, more than that," Tom assured her. "These are plans she hadn't been able to put into motion in her first life. Types of articles she'd like to run, different layouts… she is even discussing the possibility of creating new papers that focus on certain topics."
"Certain topics?"
"A monthly about sports, for example. Cricket, football, horseracing."
"Wouldn't those be horribly out of date?"
Tom laughed. "More that they would go into further depth than most papers currently do. Imagine your father being able to curl up and read about a cricket team… not a single game but what life had been like for them during an entire season of play. Almost like a novel, really. The ups, the downs. Interviews with players, discussions about what they were thinking during certain matches."
Mary raised an eyebrow at that. "Hmmm… perhaps not something I'd enjoy but it would be interesting."
"She also suggested a magazine on baking and cooking."
At once Mary's attention perked up. "Oh really?"
"Yes. Articles about the latest trends, new recipes, theme months… Christmas dishes, pastries that will be all the rage the upcoming year. Flavors and spices that one must try."
"Edith is discussing this?" Mary said, intrigued.
"I don't think she quite plans for them to start right away. This is a year or two off. But she is thinking about it."
"Well, all the more reason to give you a raise."
Tom grew quiet.
"What's wrong?" Mary asked. "I was only kidding."
"It isn't that. Or, rather, it is." Tom looked down at his hands. "We are going to need more money soon."
"Tom, what is the matter?"
"Mary… Sybil and I were married a few weeks ago."
Her eyes shot up into her hairline. "Married?"
"Sybil knew it would be important to me."
"Imp-" Mary stopped. "Wait… when I was married the last time… that…" She turned and a smile exploded onto her face. "Sybil is-"
Tom smiled softly. "Yes."
"Then-"
"Yes."
Mary at once hugged him tight. "Oh Tom! I can't believe I forgotten all about Sybie… and oh will it be hard not to call her that!"
"Believe me, I know!" Tom said with a laugh, returning the embrace. "Sybil though has already made it clear that we aren't naming our child after her. Or anyone else so don't suggest Mary or a variation of that."
"Hmmm, there goes Marianna." Mary pulled away and patted him on the shoulders. "Oh… darling… Baby Branson."
Tom nodded before letting out a soft sigh, his smile slipping. "I am thrilled of course. And Sybil says we will announce it soon-"
"Please do so while grandmamma is here. That might get her to leave me and Matthew alone. She might be annoyed you two married in secret but the baby…"
But Tom shook his head. "My concerns, sadly, aren't on your grandmother."
It took a moment but Mary quickly understood what was troubling him. "This time will be different."
"…are you sure?"
Mary forced herself to nod… even as the cold tendrils of fear began to wrap around her spine.
